


Quidditch and Ketchup

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Embarrassment, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 13:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Magic apparently works on Time Lords.





	Quidditch and Ketchup

The Doctor was awoken by his stomach rumbling like an electric saw. It never did that for hunger, so the cause was clearly the  _ opposite _ . He walked slowly but efficiently, to the loo. What followed, was an eruption of feces. He frowned. He didn’t recall eating anything he was allergic to, nor did he recall having any allergies that mild. Ginger got him drunk, aspirin killed him. Time Lord histamines were not human in the slightest. Even after finishing the Doctor felt a slight pain in his abdomen, like something really dangerous, was forcing its way through his intestines. He knew that meant he should expect gastric distress for the rest of the day. With a sigh, he got dressed and walked to the control room, already wondering how to explain to Donna that they couldn’t leave her planet and era,  _ without _ admitting the “risk”..

Donna found the Doctor fiddling with the buttons on the console in the way that she knew, didn’t actually do anything. 

“So, where are we headed today?” she greeted him cheerily. 

“About that..I’m not sure that’s such a good idea today,” the Doctor began explaining.

“If you’re ill we can stay in, watch a movie, I don’t mind. I just want to get away from the row my mum and Gramps are having,” Donna stated optimistically. She knew enough about his alien biology by now to know that his diseases couldn’t infect her. He had a cold after their adventure with the Ood, where he hadn’t worn a scarf. She was fine, so that spoke volumes about alien medicine. 

“Right, we could do that..” he murmured uncertainly. He repetitively shook his head to shake off thoughts that were pushing for him to find somewhere they  _ could _ go, even with his stomach.

“I’m not  _ that  _ ill,” the Doctor remarked.

Knowing her spaceman was battling common sense, she questioned him about his condition.

“What’s the matter, Spaceman?”

The Doctor didn’t have time to lie about it, as his stomach answered Donna instead, with a threatening growl. He was one second away from shushing his stomach. 

Donna nodded understandingly.

“You know, we could just visit a place  _ with  _ toilets, but without danger,” she suggested.

“Or, much danger..” the Doctor proposed. Donna rolled her eyes, and put up her hands in surrender. Ignoring his stomach, the Doctor entered a destination, and the TARDIS took off. 

The landing was extra bumpy, as if there was an invisible force field, which checked if the TARDIS was  _ something else _ ..

“Where and when are we?” Donna asked. 

“18th of August, 1994, Dartmoor, Devon, England. Site of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup,” The Doctor presented, throwing Donna a bag of strange shaped gold, silver and bronze coins. 

“Wait, you’re saying Harry Potter was a real person?” Donna asked in disbelief.

“IS a real person. He’s not dead yet. Just had his third child actually. Works for the Ministry of Magic. Wait a minute..haven’t you finished all the books yet? I’ve got ‘em all in my library,” the Doctor reminded her. 

“On the top shelf. But yes, I have finished them on my own. Third one’s Lily Luna Potter, right?” Donna checked. He nodded.

“Mind you, Rita Skeeter had a hell of a job changing her lifestyle to write about him. Bit obvious name change though,  _ J K, _ ” the Doctor remarked.

Donna took a second to remember the plot of the fourth book, which took place in 1994. 

“Don’t forget to park the TARDIS close enough for us to escape the Death Eaters,” she instructed. 

“Don’t worry! I’ve got my watch on,” he assured her pointing to his watch. 

It proceeded to beep loudly. 

“What type of watch is that?” Donna asked curiously. the Doctor turned red in the face.

“It’s a special one the TARDIS designed according to Rose’s..specifications,” he explained with a wince. “It beeps when it’s time for me to.. _ go to the loo _ ,” he admitted, throwing the watch away, and slunking away to the loo. He hated the watch, but would  _ never _ disobey his stomach. He’d learned not to do that several times. 

Frustratingly, the ball of wibbly, wobbly timey-wimey stuff inside the Doctor decided to turn itself into a rock. With just a few pushes, he knew his stomach was playing  _ hard _ to get. So he just gave up, and trusted his stomach to not bother him any more. 

This. Was Wrong. Very wrong. 

**World Cup Stadium area**

Donna wondered briefly, why they didn’t don robes for this occasion, but when she saw the various, more and less wizard-like attire worn by the rest of the guests, she understood. They wouldn’t be noticed among this crowd of at least 100 000.

After walking around and talking to multiple important wizards, which the Doctor had apparently met at one point or another. Why they kept talking about bumblebees, she didn’t understand.

They made their way to some good seats, just above the Minister of Magic. 

While this wizard looked moderately important, his attire did not convey this, at least not by “muggle” standards. He wore a bright green bowler hat, decorated with shamrocks, and a forget-me-not blue raincoat, despite the lack of rain. 

Donna found the games a dozen times more exciting than she pictured while reading, even better than the movies in fact. 

A large wizard, in bright green robes, and a beard almost as long as said robes, stepped up the stairs to the bench they were sitting on. He sat next to them. 

“Fudge is getting a bit paranoid, don’t you think?” the man asked the Doctor.

“Well, weather’s as unpredictable as time, Albus. He is sitting pretty close to the clouds,” the Doctor pointed out. Donna almost choked on her Bertie Botts Beans. She resisted the urge to slap herself for not recognizing him. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore nodded mildly in agreement. 

“You shouldn’t feel bad, Miss Noble. I perhaps dressed a bit casual for the occasion,” Dumbledore noted.

  
“Oh, I dunno, Irish colours show a very bold stance about the outcome of this game, Headmaster. Very you,” Donna complimented, smiling brightly in reaction to his warm presence. 

Dumbledore reached into some rather large pockets, and pulled out a round green piece of candy. 

“George Weasley gave me this, said it was a chamomile cough drop, though I suspect it’s not. It looks like avocado chewing gum, what do you think?” He handed the candy to the Doctor. 

“Hmm, hint of lime..” The Doctor put the whole piece into his mouth and ate it. 

“Yes, a lime chew, I think you’re safe to buy more,” he informed Dumbledore. 

As soon as he swallowed the U-No-Poo, his bowels woke up. The enchantment collided with the natural constipated state, like a double negative. Only Dumbledore heard the low rumble. 

“Too many chocolate frogs?” Dumbledore asked, which prompted Donna to give the Doctor a small pat on the shoulder for comfort. 

“Yeah,” he lied.

A purple-robed wizard was waving a handkerchief in the direction of the trio. Dumbledore patted his head in realization.

“Oh, that’s right. Fudge wanted me to see the game with him. I’m wanted in his box. Excuse me,” the Headmaster rose from his seat, and bode the two time-travellers farewell. 

“You know your linguistics,” The Doctor remarked, impressed. 

“Oi, don’t you go reading my mind, too! I need to catch up on magic language anyway,” Donna noted, still feeling stupid for not realizing they were all talking about Dumbledore, the person, not Old English for bumblebee.

  
  
  


Feeling a bit of pressure, the Doctor decided to fart, whilst in the company of the one person who didn’t mind alien bodily functions in the slightest. But, as soon as he opened the  _ hatch _ , a squirting sensation made the Doctor stiffen in anxious surprise. He patted his behind. It felt as if a dash of ketchup was in his underwear. But it was, of course,  _ poo _ . The Doctor descended his bottom back on the seat, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Oh, great,” he muttered. 

“Donna, I have to go back to the TARDIS, I’ll be right back, “ The Doctor announced simply, getting up. 

“What for?” she asked curiously.

“I misjudged a fart. Turns out, it  _ wasn’t _ just a fart,” he explained.

“Aw, do you remember where we parked?” Donna asked, sympathetically.

“No,” the Doctor answered, realizing he needed an escort. Donna followed him without a care in the world. 

The Doctor got himself cleaned up, dealt with the rest of the “ketchup”, and got dressed in new underpants. 

The rest of the World Cup experience went well, though Donna couldn’t prevent the Doctor from knocking out a few Death Eaters, while running away from the attack. 

  
“You said it was fixed. In writing,” Donna argued, closing the TARDIS door behind her. 

“It IS. I just fixed it a little extra,” The Doctor excused his actions, putting his leftover trinkets in the W for Wizard chest. 

“Yes, while the U-No-Poo fixed you up a LOT extra,” Donna joked, which shut up the Doctor immediately. He shot her a very not serious death glare as he set the TARDIS to Donna’s home.

“Right. Chiswick!” he grumbled through gritted teeth, before both erupted in laughter. 

The End.


End file.
